The Fine Art of Breathing
by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky
Summary: It's graduation and Stiles should be happy, right? With the darkness from everything that's happened, he doesn't know how to go from here. Too bad he's derailed on the way to a party and put in a basement with a wolf he hasn't seen in a while.


**Weirdly, I've been itching to write another story. Hopefully not a long one. So here's the thing: I love Derek and Stiles' relationship. Less romantic, but more what they** ** _could_** **be. I think the two of them have a ton in common and could really rely on each other for help if the show had given them the opportunity. So, this isn't Sterek… but it is…? Who even knows at the point. I don't understand my own feelings.**

The Fine Art of Breathing

By ChasetheWindTouchtheSky

Stiles thinks that there needs to be a new name for a relationship of someone who understands your very core. He doesn't mean the parts of life when you're happy and beautiful and everything is going according to plan. He often thinks about the kind of person that understands your darkness and the moments when the light inside you is snuffed out. Soul mate doesn't seem quite like the right word, but relationship doesn't do it justice either.

Over the years with monsters, werewolves, and hunters, Stiles has calmed down. His mind runs off track less and he finds himself being a little more calculated with how he uses his words and his actions. Because he's seen what carelessness can do. Life has taught him again and again what a moment of indecision can bring. What a careless word can destroy.

So he adjusts. He sits still.

The darkness grows.

"Stiles, there's a graduation party going on at Greenberg's house tonight," Scott says next to him, grabbing a few books from his locker and placing them in his backpack. "It might be nice. To have everyone in the same place before…"

 _Before everyone leaves._

Stiles knows Scott wants to talk about it because Scott wants to talk about everything and _fix_ it, but this isn't something he can fix. This is a part of growing up. And Stiles held on to everyone so closely, but that nearly resulted in the entire pack being destroyed.

Because he owes it, Stiles grins. "Party at Greenberg's house?" He repeats with a smirk growing. "Dude, all you had to do is say 'Greenberg' and that's worth the price of admission. Whenever Greenberg holds a party, there's at least three fights. I am so there."

Scott exhales and Stiles realizes he'd been anxious a moment before. "Good, that's good," Scott mutters, probably thinking that Stiles can't hear it. But after years of adrenaline and life-and-death situations, Stiles can. He can read Scott in a way their enemies always wished they could; he can see the emotions on his face as clear as the break of day and know exactly what was going through his head. "I'll pick you up after grabbing Kira? She decided not to sleep before her flight to Japan."

Stiles forces a smile, but he knows it's no real use pretending in front of Scott. He probably can sense the sadness rolling off of him and he tries to hold it in. Stiles had made peace with Scott using his werewolf powers on him a long time ago.

But that was the thing, though, wasn't it? Everyone was going away. And there was not a single thing Stiles could do to prevent that from happening.

Lydia was accepted into MIT and already left Beacon Hills for their Head Start program. There was a tearful goodbye at the airport where Stiles tried to memorize the lines of her face and the sorrow in her soul. She told him before stepping on the plane, "Beacon Hills is nothing but a graveyard. Get out Stiles. For your sake. Just please leave."

He can still hear her pleads with him.

Kira decided to forego college for a year to travel to Japan in order to practice her Kitsune powers and Malia and her father were taking a year off to travel the world and reintroduce themselves to each other. Both were needed. Both were painful.

Surprisingly, Scott decided to stay. Stiles knows that he says he was going to stay in order to help Liam through the remainder of high school, but always expect Stiles to remain with him. After all, Stiles was the one who was determined to keep the pack together.

"So when is your flight?" Scott asks quietly. Stiles doesn't need to have werewolf powers to sense the pain and sadness from him.

"Tomorrow morning." Stiles responds. "I'm on the semester system so I start early."

"It's really exciting, Stiles," Scott goes on because it's Scott. "You and Lydia are the only two to be accepted into Ivy Leagues. The school even tried to reach out to me to convince you to do that article they wanted."

Stiles snorts. "Wow, they want it that bad, don't they?"

"It's not every day someone gets accepted into Harvard." Scott says. "Even after everything, all the horrible things. You still did it."

Stiles turns his attention to the hallways. The hallways that he'd grown to know to be covered in so much blood and pain. The hallways that Allison once walked down and dreamt of calling it home. He clenches his jaw. "It's something alright," he mutters. With a smile as fake as can be, he says, "I have to pack and I want to spend some time with my dad before the party. I'll meet you there, is that alright?"

Scott nods as if he expected it, but was disappointed nonetheless. "I'll see you there then?" He asks, as if not entirely sure."

Now, Stiles isn't really a touchy-feely person. Being around weres for a couple years, his personal bubble has definitely went away, but he doesn't go out of his way to touch people.

But he reaches out and grabs Scott, folding him into a hug and clutching him as tight as he can. Scott freezes for a brief second, but then reciprocates. "I'm gonna miss you, man." Scott breathes quietly, holding Stiles.

"Me too," Stiles admits in a way that he hates admitting any vulnerability. "Remind me that this is a good thing. Please."

"This is a great thing, Stiles." Scott says firmly. "You are going to one of the best schools in the world. You need to get some space from Beacon Hills. You need to get some space from this world."

Stiles doesn't respond. Because he doesn't want to voice that he needs a moment for a world that doesn't involve werewolves.

 **XXX**

"Everything's packed and ready to go?" John asks, even though everything in Stiles' room is in boxes and all the posters are taken down.

Stiles nods, sitting on his bed. He plays with his hands in that way he does when he's anxious, trying to ignore the slight tremble of his fingertips.

"Everything all right, son?" John asks, joining him on the stripped bed.

Stiles doesn't say anything for a moment. He looks at the boxes in the corner and the duffle next to his closet. His knee bounces up and down as he tries to find the words. "What if…" Stiles starts, trying to get his words right in a way he never has. "What if I can't be far away from everyone? What if I can't be by myself?"

"Stiles, let me ask you a question." John says, putting his arm around his son. "What do you feel when you're in Beacon Hills?"

Stiles frowns. "What?"

"What do you feel when you're in Beacon Hills?"

Stiles looks around at his empty room and out the window. "I feel…" He starts. "Dark."

"Go on."

"I feel claustrophobic. I feel… empty."

"Now tell me, is that a place that you think would be good for you to stay? Do you think this is a place for you to grow?"

Stiles looks at his father, his rock, and shakes his head. John squeezes his shoulders. "Listen kid, you have been in a world of monsters. It is time to get some space, some healing, and figure out who you are. You can't do that here."

"But, what about you? Scott?"

John shakes his head with a fond smile. "We will be fine. We want what's best for you and you shouldn't feel guilty about that. There's nothing selfish about needed to do something to heal. Look at Lydia."

"Lydia needed it. She's had the most horrible experiences here."

"And you haven't?"

Stiles shuts his eyes. After years of kidnapping, Alpha packs, the Nogitsune, the Benefactor, Eichen House, Donavan, and more, Stiles feels his breath coming a bit shorter. "I'm not sure I deserve it the way she does."

"That's why you need to get out of here, kid." John says. "Because everyone knows you deserve it, but all you see is what's changed you."

 **XXX**

Stiles waves to his father as he hops in his Jeep, grunting when it takes a few tries to bring his baby to life. He backs out of the driveway to the image of his father waving in the doorway, wondering if he'll ever really be able to handle being away from him.

His thoughts are lost at sea as he drives to Greenberg, anxiety of the future hitting him, just as all his dark thoughts do when he's alone. His phone lights up and he peers at it.

 _Lydia: I found the perfect apartment for us – it's almost right in the middle of Harvard and MIT. Call me when you can and try to have fun at Greenberg's. Take a picture of him vomiting for art in our living room!_

She adds one of those emoticons of the person kissing and it makes Stiles smile. It doesn't make his heart flutter the way he would've thought something from Lydia Martin would. Instead, he feels an ocean of vast fondness. Her perfection façade that he built had shattered and she took root inside his heart in a different way. Something more permanent and real.

After the Nogitsune and then Malia, Stiles really questioned if he could ever be romantic with someone. It brought too much baggage and pain. He wanted to be able to be worth someone again. And with Allison's haunted, dead eyes in the back of his mind, he wasn't sure if he ever would be.

Stiles puts on his blinker to turn and notices that the car behind him has been following him fairly closely for about a mile. He wonders absently who it could be because he never recognized that car in the parking lot at school.

As he peers in his rear-view mirror, he doesn't notice another car come up at his left. Just as he turns his head, the drivers turns his wheel and his Jeep is forced off the road.

The last thing Stiles hears is glass breaking and a gasp he think might be his own.

 **XXX**

"Rise and shine!"

Stiles groans when the voice calls at him, painful and loud. His head throbs and feels about three sizes too large. His limbs feel more disconnected than usual as he tries to bring himself to his knees, but it takes far longer than he means.

Someone hits something above him, causing his stomach to roll and his head to scream. "Look alive sweetheart!" They call.

It takes Stiles embarrassingly long to realize that the noise above him is metal on metal and that the person is slamming a rod against bars of what he can only see is a cage.

Stiles eyes finally snap completely open as notices the bars on all sides of him. He is in a cage. He tries to sit up, but his head slams against the top and he crumbles back down. "Don't get up too quickly!" The voice says. "We just wanted to make sure you weren't dead. They hit your car a bit harder than they meant. Don't get too comfortable!"

Stiles grumbles which he hopes sounds menacing, but knows it's nothing more than wounded animal whimpering. He realizes this cage he's in is far too small to stand up in – and considering how his stomach is rolling, he's unsure if he even could at this point – so he takes to sitting down, his legs splayed out in front of him so that his toes reach the end of the cage.

"Stiles?"

Stiles twitches at the sound of his name, but the only thing keeping him from delving into a deep panic is that there's something friendly about the voice. Warm. Comforting.

Familiar.

Stiles cranes his neck and sees a cage next to his, cast in a darkness. The figure pushes himself closer to the light, his green eyes glinting.

"Oh my god, Derek?"

It takes a moment for Stiles to recognize him. There are dark circles under his eyes and a gauntness to him that makes him sick. His form may be as large and as built as ever, but there's a weakness to it that Stiles has never seen before. A small smile reaches Derek's face that gives a bit of life to his hollowed eyes, but it vanishes. "What are you doing here?" He asks.

Stiles looks around at his tiny box. "Hanging out?"

"Be serious."

"How could I possibly know?" Stiles exclaims. "I literally just graduated high school."

Derek makes a sad noise, but his face is still close to the bars. "You shouldn't be in this place."

"Should you?" Stiles asks. He looks at Derek's sad eyes and for the first time, he sees something in him that he's never seen in another person.

Himself.

A strange sadness that Stiles knows is misplaced, but present and buried in his skin. "How long have you been here?" Stiles asks, unsure if he wants to know the answer.

"I don't know." Derek says distantly. "I don't even know what day it is."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Well, after Mexico, Braden and I thought we'd get out of Beacon Hills for a bit," he says, leaning against the cage. "But she had to work and it was something I just didn't want to be a part of. I was tired of chasing death around me, so we parted. A few weeks later someone snuck wolfsbane in to a drink of mine and here I am."

"Dude, it's June." Stiles says.

The realization hits Derek's eyes and Stiles thinks something breaks. "June?" He asks. "That means I've been here…"

"Four months." Stiles finishes solemnly.

"Four months." Derek repeats, moving his face out of the light.

They don't say much for a moment. For the first time in a while, Stiles feels the need to fill the silence. "I'm sorry," he states plainly, unsure of what else to say.

"For what?"

"For not finding you." He says. "For not looking for you."

"How could you have known?"

Stiles doesn't have an answer. But he does know everyone deserves to have someone who wonders where they are.

 **XXX**

Stiles is rudely awakened by the rough grabbing him out of his cage. Derek makes a few noises, but soon is pulled out after. The two are lead down a hallway that looks as if one could get hepatitis by just looking at it, but then are greeted to a room that made the hallway look like the Ritz. The people take some time chaining Derek onto a wall – which Stiles thinks absently how cliché it must be to Derek at this point – while strapping him to a chair. Stiles can't bring himself to even put up a fight because his head still throbs and he's beginning to feel a little nauseous from the lack of food and water.

"Welcome Stiles. So glad we can have the opportunity to meet."

Stiles squints where the voice is coming from. It sounds familiar, but it isn't until Lady Calaveras walks out of the shadows does Stiles close his eyes. "If you wanted to meet, you could've just asked Chris Argent for my number. We could get coffee, some curly fries. Much better hospitality than these digs."

Lady Calaveras chuckles, but instead of responding, she walks over and tightens the bindings on Stiles' wrists a few notches. He grunts. "Is that really necessary? I'm nothing more than an itty-bitty human."

"That's the thing, isn't it?" She says. "That's why you're here."

Derek growls behind them and there's something very comforting about it.

Lady Calaveras smirks. "Haven't seen life like this in him for a while. I'm so glad we decided to expand our guest size."

The last thing Stiles can think of is her cryptic words. Then the electricity hits.

 **XXX**

"Scott will find us." Derek says, his breathing labored one night. "There is no world where he won't try to find you."

Stiles appreciates the sentiment, but his entire body feels like it's on fire. He rolls on his back to keep his stomach from emptying what little contents it has, staring at the bars in front of him.

"Yeah," he says softly. "Maybe."

"Yes." Derek says firmly. "He will find you."

It sounds to Stiles that he's trying to convince himself more than anything.

 **XXX**

While electricity seem to be the Calaveras' forte, they end up switching it up after a while. Minor marks here and there. Meant for pain, not for death. Stiles finds himself in his usual position on his back in his cage, trying to ignore the slices that are on his shoulder blades.

"Do you think this is purgatory?" Stiles asks one night as he listens to Derek's breath, using it to calm him from a panic attack. "I mean, I don't understand why you'd be here. Because you don't deserve it."

Stiles can hear Derek shift next to him. "Wait, what?"

"Do you think this is some sort of purgatory? For everything I've done?"

"Why in the hell would you even say that?" Derek demands, his eyes flashing an electric blue for the first time since Stiles had been down here.

"Because Allison is dead. Boyd is dead. Erica's dead. Heather. Aiden." Stiles closes his eyes. "Donavan."

Stiles knows Derek doesn't know who Donavan is and he definitely doesn't want to tell him.

"It just builds up, you know?" He continues. "There's so much death and everyone leaves and you have to start to wonder if it's your fault. And it is. It's my fault, Derek."

"It really isn't."

"You don't know." Stiles says. "You really don't."

 **XXX**

"I got into Harvard," Stiles says one night, sitting up and taking careful sips of water that were given to him. Derek's leaning on the side of his cage closest to Stiles while Stiles does the same. Stiles wonders if he reached out, whether he could touch him.

Derek lifts an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah," he says with a smile. "Lydia is at MIT and we were supposed to share an apartment. Lydia thought it'd be a good idea for the two of us to get out of Beacon Hills for a while. I think she's right. But I feel guilty."

"Why would you feel guilty?"

"Leaving my dad and Scott. I made such a fuss about us sticking together but there's just so much bad, you know? So much bad stuff in Beacon Hills and I don't think if I went to college there, I'd be able to breathe. I can barely breathe there now."

"It's good to get space." Derek murmurs in agreement. "Did I ever tell you that after the fire, Laura and I went on a world trip? We bought just enough to survive and hiked all over the world."

Stiles finds himself smiling. Like, genuinely smiling. "Did it help?"

Derek sighs. "Actually? Yeah," he says. "After a while, that weight lifts a bit. It doesn't go away – I don't think it ever can. But suddenly the world feels big again and you can breathe."

Stiles looks at his hands. "Hey Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"If we make it out alive, can we do that too?"

There's silence. Stiles thinks he's taken it too far, he's crossed a line. He opens his mouth to take it back, but then Derek says, "I think that's a great idea."

He blinks. "Really?"

"Yeah. It's what I wanted to do with Braden, but she doesn't need it. And if you don't need it, it's not the same."

Stiles looks at the bars around him. "I'm holding you to this."

 **XXX**

To be honest, Stiles had no idea what the fuck the Calaveras wanted. He wasn't sure if they were just disgusted with him as a person or had a sick sense of humor. It wasn't until one day that the truth really slipped.

"There it is!"

Stiles can't really figure out what he's talking about because his eyes are squeezed shut. But there's some grumbling behind him, so he opens his eyes and sees that Derek's no longer there. He whips his head around and makes a noise. "What the fuck did you do?" He exclaims, searching the area as best he can.

But he still hears grumbling so he knows Derek is there somewhere. Lady Calaveras opens a drawer and grabs a collar. For a brief moment he thinks that she's about to collar him like a fucking animal, but then realizes she's collaring an actual animal.

A wolf.

"Holy fucking shit," Stiles breathes, his insides shredding as he watches a beautiful, majestic wolf get a collar snapped around his neck.

"Thanks Stiles." Lady Calaveras says softly. "We needed him to transform, but realized that self preservation isn't what causes him to transform. It's the need of protection. And who better needs protection than the pathetic, weak human of the pack."

"What are you going to do to him?" Stiles exclaims, his voice hoarse from screaming moments before.

"We just want to study," Lady Calaveras says softly as she yanks the chain so that his head is bowed in submission.

The world breaks.

 **XXX**

Derek doesn't come back for several days. Stiles forgot what it was like to sleep alone.

Then again, he's never really alone.

His demons are always ready to visit.

 **XXX**

"Hey, hey, hey—" Someone says softly, gentle and calm. "Come on, breathe. You have to just breathe."

The words bring Stiles out of the nightmare that has gripped him and he snaps his eyes open. Peering at him from across the way is Derek, his face tired and haggard and entirely human. "D-Derek." He chokes. "A-Are you—"

"Catch your breath, idiot." Derek snaps. "Just calm down, your heart is going way too fast."

That's when Stiles realizes he's covered in a thin film of sweat and trembling from head to toe. He takes a few moments to collect himself, knowing his cheeks are blazing with embarrassment. After a few minutes, he turns. "Are you alright?"

Derek nods, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Stiles can see the brokenness behind them. He absently wonders if Derek sees the same thing when he looks at him. "I'm fine."

"Liar." Stiles states, clutching his chest. "I'm glad you're back though."

"I never thought I'd be so glad to be back in this cage."

Stiles chuckles, but it turns into a cough, a little too violent for comfort. "I'm growing dependent on you." He states. "This is a very dependent relationship we've formed. I'm man enough to admit it."

Derek chuckles. "I'd deny it, but we both know that'd be a lie."

Stiles smiles, exhaustion hitting him, as they usually do after nightmares and panic attacks. He chatters to Derek a little more, but can't help but slip under.

 **XXX**

"Do you still get nightmares like that often?"

Stiles is lying on the ground, shivering a bit. While he was half-asleep, he watched through lidded eyes and Derek tried his best to move his cage a little bit closer. It may be wishful thinking, but Stiles thinks it is closer than before.

"Not often. I usually don't scream like that anymore. I always felt bad waking my dad." Stiles says honestly because he and Derek have no secrets at this point. Stiles pretends he doesn't like it, but it's nice to have someone who knows his darkness and stays.

"But if you don't tell anyone, you can't get help."

"I don't think I deserve help at this point," Stiles says. "I just want people to be happy. They don't need me falling apart around them."

"That's destructive."

"Pot," Stiles says pointing at himself. And then he waves to Derek. "Kettle."

Derek grumbles, but doesn't argue. Stiles smiles as he falls asleep.

 **XXX**

Stiles can barely open his eyes, but he feels on fire all the time. As he presses his forehead against the ground, desperately wishing that it would cool him down, he hears, "Please! Please, you got your research. I will turn in a wolf willingly! He's sick and going to die! He's human!"

If there was ever supposed to be a reaction to that plea, it never came.

 **XXX**

"It's weird to think that I should be in school right now," Stiles says absently one day. He's been talking a lot lately. He's unsure if it makes any sense. Derek usually listens. Sometimes he responds, but his words are usually filled with worry and sadness.

Stiles can never figure out why.

"I should be in school. I even had my classes picked out. I wanted to study Criminal Science. There were all these classes I am supposed to be in right now." Stiles continues. "Oh shit, what do you think happened with our apartment? Do you think Lydia's upset? That she had to move out? She was so excited about that apartment."

"It's fine, Stiles." Derek says comfortingly. "I'm sure the only reason she's upset is that she doesn't know where you are."

Stiles frowns. "Lydia deserves to be happy. She's been through so much and she still is so strong. I don't know how she does that."

Derek doesn't say anything. Perhaps maybe he does, but Stiles doesn't hear it. Instead he looks at his bars and they swim.

 **XXX**

There's a scraping noise and Stiles thinks the Calaveras have come for him again. They'd been relatively conservative with taking him out of his cage. He wonders aimlessly if it's because he's having a hard time focusing on anything or if Derek's plea was real and he was cooperating. He hopes it isn't the latter. He doesn't want to be responsible for the destruction of Derek Hale.

But when the loud noises stop and someone grabs his hand, he flinches. But no one grabs him and drags him out. Instead, there's a moment of relief from the pain and the fire. Stiles turns his head, feeling a little drunk, noticing Derek is a lot closer than he was moments before and that he has a hold of Stiles' hand. "Hello," Stiles says off-kilter, blinking a few times.

"Hi." Derek says, his words tight but smiling.

"Whaddya doing?"

"Shut up please."

"Don't do that, that's stupid."

"Stiles, I said please. I only ask nicely once."

Stiles looks at where their hands are together and stares. "I think you're strong too." He says.

Derek rolls his eyes. "I wasn't upset you called Lydia strong."

"Just for the record."

"Well, thanks."

 **XXX**

Stiles finds himself in the Calaveras' chair by himself one day. His head lolls to the side and he has to blink a few times to remain focused.

"Stiles." Lady Calaveras starts. "If you could focus."

Stiles can't help but roll his eyes. "Actually I can't."

"You need to. Because this is very important."

Stiles tries to flip her off, but he barely gets a finger up and it takes a few tries to get the right one up.

She sighs. "Now, we are willing to send you back to Beacon Hills. We just need one thing."

Stiles lifts an eyebrow.

"We want to know where Cora Hale is."

Stiles bursts into laughter. Real, hysterical laughter. He can't stop it. It feels like hours that he's laughing even though it isn't. When he finally catches his breath, he chokes, "Well you can just go fuck yourself, can't you?"

"Wrong decision." Lady Calaveras states with a knife in her hand.

Even so, it feels right to Stiles.

 **XXX**

"They asked you about Cora."

"Yeah."

"You didn't tell them?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

"Yeah."

 **XXX**

There's a point in time where time stops existing. Days just blend in together and Stiles knows it's not good. He's dying. He's dying because he's a human and he can't heal. He feels Derek hold his hand tighter and tighter, as if he's trying to keep him on this planet, but Stiles is already with the stars.

 **XXX**

One day, everything gets infinitely brighter and _loud_.

Stiles wants to tell Derek to make it stop, but he can't because he doesn't have the energy. He is vaguely aware that people are running around him and he thinks that Derek is causing a ruckus, but then suddenly he's _there_. He's _there_ in front of his eyes instead of to the side and there are people talking really, really fast.

"—I think he has an infection. He's had a fever since I got closer to him, but I don't know how long ago that was—"

"Derek, I know, just let me do my job." Someone says and their voice is warm so Stiles smiles.

Then they push on his chest and stick something in his arm and he makes a noise that doesn't sound human anymore. Stiles thinks he's saying something, but he hears, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again. He thinks it comes from him. Maybe from someone else.

But he apologizes to whoever's apologizing.

Because if this is purgatory and this is the moment he gets to make up for Allison and Donavan and everyone whose blood was spilt because of him, he wants to accept the pain and make amends.

So he apologizes and desperately hopes Allison can hear.

 **XXX**

Stiles is vaguely aware that he's no longer in a cage, which is nice.

Except Derek isn't there and a part of him feels left in the cage he was freed from.

 **XXX**

Stiles' eye flutter open one day and he takes in the world of white around him. He's vaguely aware of the tubes in his arm and under his noise. Forms are collapsed around whatever room he's in. He isn't sure who they are, but it seems like a lot. Too many people for such a small room.

He wheezes a bit, his breath a little more difficult than he remembers. As soon as he makes a noise, everyone jolts upright. It's overwhelming because people are talking really fast and he isn't entirely clear of who is who. Finally, someone snaps and everyone shuts up. He isn't sure who shut them up, but he's grateful.

"Out. Everyone." They say.

The forms leave and Stiles blinks in order to try and get some clarity.

By the time they do, Stiles realizes he's in the room with his father. His father is tall and stern, watching everyone go. Stiles remembers thinking he was the protector of everyone when he was little. Someone that no one could touch. He was indestructible.

The moment John's eyes move from the closed door to Stiles, he destructs.

"Oh, Stiles," he whispers, choking on his own tears.

Stiles is confused, but his heart yearns for his father as if a piece of him were missing and he never noticed.

 **XXX**

"Are you sure?" John asks, sitting on his bed like they did months before. Stiles looks at everything packed around him. All the boxes and his duffel by the closet. Except this time, he doesn't feel like he's going to shatter at any moment.

It turned out they were there for two months. Stiles doesn't like to think about it, but there was so much media press, it's hard to forget. They've labeled it as an attack on the Sheriff's son, which is hard for his father to swallow, but what else can they say? Stiles didn't realize he was surrounded by the entire pack when he woke up, but never realized that their presence would cause him so much calm.

Plus, he nearly died.

No one likes to talk about it.

Stiles has the letter in his hands and hands it to his father.

 _"Dear Stiles Stilinski,_

 _Due to the circumstance, we are happy to defer your enrollment for another year for attendance to Harvard University. As a staff, we wish you a speedy recovery and will welcome you back whenever you are ready."_

"Harvard will still be there." Stiles says. "Are you ready?"

John chuckles. "The Beacon Hills Police Force will still be there. It's in good hands with Parrish."

Stiles holds his father's hand. "I don't want you to feel obligated to leave."

"Stiles." John says calmly. "There's no place I'd rather be."

There's a soft knocking at the door and John laughs. "Right on time, just as suspected."

Stiles and his father walk down the stairs, John opening the door to reveal Derek. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "Ready?"

"Definitely." John states.

Stiles nods, giving Derek a smile. "Are you still cool with this? Even with my dad coming?"

"What are you implying Stiles?" John asks.

Stiles puts his hands up. "No, we just talked about doing it and I am struggling and want you hear, but never really ran it by Derek."

Derek puts a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Stiles, calm down. Family is good."

John nods, clasping Derek's arm. "Family is good."

There's a softness in Derek's eyes that melt his exterior, but he doesn't say anything and no one mentions it. Instead he turns around and heads for his car as John gathers up all their bags and turns off the last light in the house.

Stiles hesitates, watching his father and Derek pack the car. They bicker in a strange way that makes Stiles smile and happy to sit in the back seat as they argue the best way to get out of Beacon Hills.

"Ooh, stop there." Stiles says, pointing to a place on the map Derek's holding while John proceeds to go everywhere Derek tells him not to. "They have the best curly fries."

"That is two hours outside of Beacon Hills, Stiles." John says. "When did you go there?"

"…uh, no comment?"

Derek only laughs, looking at the Sheriff fondly as he rolls his eyes at his son.

With every mile, the weight feels slightly more bearable.

It was time to relearn how to breathe.

 **A/N: CAN YOU SAY SHERIFF/DEREK/STILES ROAD TRIP (I didn't realize I actually wanted this until I started to write the ending).**

 **I hope you like it! If you have a moment, please leave a comment. They are always welcome and loved.**


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